


Terms Of Endearment

by Psycho_Chiquita



Category: Megamind (2010)
Genre: Caring Megamind, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Diabetes, Established Relationship, F/M, In multiple languages, Like I'm not even kidding too much fluff to handle, Megamind and Roxanne are ridiculously cute together, Megamind has a sweets problem, Nicknames game, Oh and Roxanne has no control over her sick addled sleep deprived actions, SOMEONE TELL THESE TWO DORKS TO STOP BEING SO DAMN CUTE TOGETHER, Sick Roxanne, apparently, super fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 14:41:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15512070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psycho_Chiquita/pseuds/Psycho_Chiquita
Summary: When it comes to spending (nearly) every waking moment together, after so long one gets comfortable with the idea of using different terms of endearment with their significant other.Even if they're not always nice. Or the other person has no idea what you just called them.





	Terms Of Endearment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elf_Kid2.0](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Elf_Kid2.0).



> You know how when you swim to the bottom of the pool and your head feels puffed with pressure and everything looks funny when you try and look up through the surface, like seeing through a looking glass to a different dimension?
> 
> Yeah, that’s what I feel like 24/7 now.
> 
> Sorry this took so long, honest to goodness I want to do something longer but I can only take baby steps and, brf, here, take my fluffy addled crap from the deep lagoon-
> 
> *hand pokes out from surface of water*
> 
> *places soggy story on poolside*
> 
> *chucks a deuce and plops back underwater*

* * *

  
“What did you just call me?” she asked with a slit of her eyes. She had to put her book down to glare at him properly, her arm hanging low off the side of her now ex-kidnapping chair.  
  
Lowering the drill, he reached for the screws balanced between his teeth thinking the metal had muffled his voice (but knew he reached slowly in fear of having said the wrong thing).  
  
“M-ma puce?” he spit out, a lone screw tinkling a metallic laugh as it skittered across the lab's cement floor.  
  
She stared, her hand hovering dangerously close over the toolbox next to her foot.  
  
“And that means what, exactly?”  
  
“I-is French, for ‘m-my flea?’ I didn’t, is not-” he broke off, his voice dropping to dust.  
  
“-I mean it- it’s better than cabbage, at least I thought so, and with, I, well- I thought it was cute,” he mumbled, his cheeks puffing in defense.  
  
Her eyebrows didn’t drop from their raised-in-confusion position, her eyelids closing slowly to rest on his response as she pursed her lips.  
And then she laughed, light and feathery in the way it tickled his chest whenever she did.  
  
She shook her head with a smile and pulled out the soldering iron he’d asked for.

* * *

  
  
“Good morning, min lille guldklump,” he said with his sluggish entrance into their kitchen, yawning the entire slump towards the coffee pot.  
  
“What’s a ghould clomp?” she asked over the oversized spoonful of cereal in her mouth.  
  
“A wha?” he asked with another yawn, one hand on the milk jug and the other pouring a stream of sugar into his mug. “Oh, a gold nugget.”  
  
She nodded slowly in thoughtfulness, processing his words and her breakfast. She made sure to clear her mouth before attempting a response.  
  
“What, am I not good enough to be a diamond or something?”  
  
He gave a low chuckle with a quirk of his mouth, his eyes never fully opening as he slumped his way back out of the kitchen.  
  
“Love, gold holds more value than a diamond. If the world ends, diamonds would be worthless. Gold will always hold monetary worth.”  
  
“So does food,” she retorted with a snort.  
  
“Fine, fine,” he chuckled with a wave of his hand. “Whatever you say, honey.”  
  
He stopped briefly next to her seat, leaning down slightly to press a kiss to her forehead before walking out into the lab.  
  
She couldn’t help but smile into her bowl as she stirred her cereal for another bite.

* * *

  
“Love.”  
  
“Ngh.”  
  
“Darling.”  
  
“Mmmph.”  
  
“Megs, sweetie, are you okay?”  
  
He snapped his eyes open towards her voice, darting them throughout the room to assess his situation.  
  
Sitting in his wheelie chair slumped over the desk, blueprints spread throughout, a wet smudge on one corner directly underneath him, his drafting pencil on the floor- _oh no_  
  
“You sure you don’t want to sleep in bed instead?” she giggled.  
  
“No, I’m okay. Got lost in the moment,” he insisted, waving her off and picking up the pencil from where it had fallen on the cement floor.  
  
She eyed him from where she’d been folding the clothes by the couch, the tip of the pencil scribbling away furiously into the desk through the papers and blueprints that littered the surface.  
  
“Well, as I was saying the committee found it irresponsible to be stretching the budget to invest in shifting between regional chefs and decorative dinning sets whenever a guest of honor would be expected in the hall, but I had to remind them that how the hell are we to impress an investor from South Africa if the most complicated thing coming from the kitchen is carbonara on fiesta-ware. Of course Herault still had two cents to put in what with the mishandling of the ball funding, he’s still upset you _actually_ brought in a bouncy house, so he-” she looked over again, seeing him slumped over the paperwork in the same stance he was in just barely a handful of minutes earlier.  
  
With a laugh that was carried out in a breath, she unfolded the last thing she had squared over the top of the laundry basket and undid the heavy fabric over his slumped shoulders.  
  
“Asteri mou, you’ll be the death of me,” she whispered into his temple with a kiss.

* * *

  
Candles decorated the room with a soft embrace, precise placements scattered between loose flowers and tempting chocolates.  
  
Once having scanned the entirety of her adorned living room her eyes settled on her kitchen bar, a lone card propped against a bottle of red wine with a single sentence written across it, the candle light seeming to glow off the shimmer that made up the flowing script.  
  
_a ghrá mo chroí_  
  
He recognized her smile, the million watt beam she perfected for the public whenever she was facing the camera.  
He frowned.  
  
“Wuh- Is something the matter?”  
  
Tight lipped, she carefully raised her gaze from the wine bottle to meet his, that “I-don’t-want-to-hurt-you-but-I-don’t-know-how-else-to-put-this” expression never wavering from her face.  
  
“I, it’s-”  
  
She lingered with a frozen face as she thought out how to simply explain “I can’t read this.”  
  
He drew his eyebrows together, lifting the note card from its place on the bar between them and reading the words written in love out loud. It was her turn to frown in confusion.  
  
“Why, where did, what gave you the idea that it’s supposed to go like that?”  
  
“I, I don’t, understand-”  
  
“I mean you’re saying it right, you’re just spelling it, _very_  wrong,” she declared.  
  
“…excuse me?”  
  
She took the cardstock from his hand and held it closer to her face, as if shortening the reading distance would suddenly clarify the unintelligible hand writing.  
  
“Well see, this one is missing the rest of the word, and this one isn’t even a _word_  itself,” she pointed out, her eyebrows still furrowed as her finger gently underlined the sentence. “Where did you even?” she managed to ask before he interrupted with a toss of his hands and an exasperated huff, reaching for the bottle of wine to uncork it as ungraciously as his pocket corkscrew would allow.  
  
“I don’t understand, it’s supposed to be in true Gaelic, at least as far as Uncail Derry had been preaching over it,” he whined with a _pop_  of the bottle’s cork following close behind. “Claimed that Gaelic was pretty much a one and done.”  
  
“Gaelic,” she stated with a deadpanned stare. “Tell me, where was ‘Uncail’ Derry from?”  
  
He paused briefly in between filling glasses.  
“Northern Ireland,” he practically scoffed.  
  
She reached out for a glass after he had taken his own. “Not to be a jackass about it, but your Uncle Derry was an amadán.”  
  
He practically inhaled his glass of wine through his nose. “Hey, I resent that!” he coughed out.  
  
“And I don’t,” she countered. “Sweetheart, there’s a fine line between Irish and Scottish Gaelic, _but there’s a line_.”  
  
He eyed the card in her hands with his apparently _wrong_  declarations of love, her fingers caressing the letters with as much cherishment had it been properly written in the other half of her native dialect. There wasn’t a hint of discontentment outlining her features, no outward signs of having been put off for the evening, just a barely visible sparkle of endearment tucked away in the corners of her eyes.  
  
“Okay,” he sighed, the gentle tap of his wine glass meeting the marble bar top drawing her attention back towards him. He outreached his arms to take both of her hands in his, his fingers overlapping the cardstock with hers.  
  
“Then show me.”  
 

* * *

  
“Duckie.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Baby?”  
  
“Eh.”

“Hunny Bunny.”  
  
“Oh good god no,” Megamind sneered into his milkshake, fishing out for what seemed to be the sixth cherry out of the mound that sat against the rim of the glass.  
  
Roxanne smiled around her own straw, her feet tapping restlessly against his own underneath the table. They both took note of a couple making their way into the restaurant when one of the men stopped short and was sidetracked by something just as they neared the glass door. Already having walked up to the counter, the other man turned around in confusion before spotting their partner making way to a pet store across the street, and rolled his eyes while making way back to the front entrance, throwing the front door open with annoyance.  
  
“Turdblossom, come here!” was shouted through the diner’s door, and Megamind inhaled his cherry getting it promptly lodged in the back of his throat while Roxanne had coughed into her straw, thereby splashing everything within a three foot radius with cookies and cream droplets. Including themselves.  
  
In the corner of a mom and pop diner on fifth and broadway on a sunny Thursday evening, Roxanne was smacking the ever-loving crap out of her blue boyfriend’s back while tears of laughter ran down her milkshake stained cheeks.

* * *

  
There was only three more things to get on the grocery list before they were done. At least there __was__ , until she looked up from the list on her phone over the grocery cart.  
  
“No,” she said sternly to Megamind’s pouting face.  
  
He gave a wordless grunt and a shake of the box in his hands.  
  
“I said no, you’ve had your limit for the week I am __not__  adding more.”  
  
More wordless noises followed by flailing arms. The box being shaken more sternly.  
  
“Blue I swear to god if you don’t put down those pop tarts-“  
  
Having taking her words literally, he dropped them into the grocery cart with an evil smile only a toddler would know how to utilize.  
  
She lunged for his arm as he made a run for the end of the isle, settling on flinging the box of pop tarts into one of the empty slots in the isle they were in.  
  
Making her way to the last of the items, her grocery cart bumped into the leather clad behind of her idiot boyfriend as she said “Stop being a butt and help me get the can of capers down from the shelf.”  
  
Until he turned around with arms full of Rice Crispies.  
  
“Nuh-uh, no- damnit put those back.” She stared him down, his determined stance never wavering.  
  
“Listen here you squiggly spaghetti, if you don’t put those back this instant I _will_  call Minion and tell him to move all of your hidden snack spots you think I don’t know about to places where even _you_  won’t find them.”  
  
Fear in his eyes and the decision to not call her bluff forced him to pace down the isle in not-exactly-a-sprint-but-definitely-not-a-brisk-walk to rid of the mound of marshmallow snacks in his arms.  
  
_Formal speed-walking_  her mind brought up, and she bit the inside of her cheek before turning up to reach for the top shelf herself.  
  
Standing alongside Roxanne by the checkout counter, Megamind gave her a sideways grin. “Squiggly spaghetti?” he muttered amusedly.  
  
Her lips twitched with the ghost of a suppressed smile. “Sounded better in my head than limp noodle. The way you fight sometimes, looks like someone flopping a string of spaghetti in the air.”  
  
He should’ve been offended, tried to be, but he really couldn’t.

* * *

  
Leaning over the side of the mattress, he could see she was still dealing with the worst of the fever.  
  
“Amor,” he whispered, the back of his hand placed flat against her forehead. Her hair framed her head in a wild halo spread slick across the comforter where she slept upside down, feet elevated on the headboard. She hummed without movement.  
  
“Fofinha?”  
  
She stirred, coming to with a dazed start. Her eyes seemed to look without seeing, clouded over with sickness and sleep deprivation as she patted down the surrounding mattress in search of something.  
  
Before she could make a full sweep he grabbed her pillow by the headboard, the one that was more down than feather, and slipped it underneath to where he anticipated her hand would pat down next.  
  
With silent satisfaction, she crumpled the pillow to its familiar mound and shoved it underneath her head, never once coming into full consciousness. Just as easily did she wake up was she falling under the spell of sick sleep again.  
  
He chuckled to himself, low in the back of his throat as he crossed his arms and looked down to the dozed off bundle of mess and soft snoring that was the love of his life.  
  
“Tão Fofa,” he breathed out with fondness before walking out of the room and closing the door with a barely audible _click_.

* * *

  
It had been a crisp night, the air sharp with the bite of winter coming around the corner. Most of Metro City had hidden away once the sun had set, but it didn’t stop Roxanne and Megamind from camping out on her balcony with mugs of hot cocoa and a sherpa.  
  
Nestled in the comfort of her outdoor papasan was where Roxanne waited patiently for Megamind to come back outside from refilling the mugs, one arm outstretched towards her as he asked “These ones?”  
  
She reached out a hand from underneath the warmth cover of the blanket, a rushed and needy sound through her pursed lips as her hand grabbed for her mug.  
  
He handed it to her with a wiggle of his hips, trying to work in enough space next to her in the already cramped pillow bowl to warm himself up again. He hissed cold air though his teeth as they fought for dominance over the Sherpa, grunting and nudging until they settled on overlapping their legs and sitting nearly chest to chest for maximum coverage.  
  
After regaining some of Roxanne’s body heat, he furrowed his brows with a questioning glance towards her.  
  
“I, couldn’t completely hear you from inside, what, _exactly,_ did you ask?”  
  
She furrowed her eyebrows back, a gentle twist of her wrist to indicate he had already answered her question with the mug in hand.  
  
“No, I mean, what did you _say_?”

“To, get the marshmallows?” she asked more than stated.  
  
He shook his head. “Before that?”  
  
“I know what’s missing?”  
  
“ _After_.”  
  
“The marshmallows?”  
  
“Rox _-anne_ ,” he chided.  
  
She bloomed, a radiant blush that he hadn’t seen since their first real date. Not that all the ones as Bernard didn’t count, it’s just that, well, they _didn’t._ Not when he got to appreciate the reactions he got out of her when he was being just himself without the help of a disguise.  
  
The blanket slipped from his shoulder briefly when she leaned over the edge of the seat to set her mug down. He didn’t complain.  
  
She caressed his face with both of her hands, her head tilting to one side with a delicate smile growing on her lips.  
  
“Matia mou” was all she said with an endearing gentleness, her thumbs stroking the high cheekbones underneath his widened eyes.  
  
“And, what is that supposed to mean?” was his turn to ask in a whisper of his own.  
  
She pulled him down to place a light kiss on his closing eyelids.  
  
“My eyes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Urgh
> 
> *faceplants desk*
> 
> Wait, what am I doing?
> 
> I don’t even have a desk.
> 
> *knees to the ground*
> 
> *faceplants mattress*
> 
> Here are those obligatory A/N’s where I explain things because reasons, and you get to see the stupid amount of meticulous research that went into a single. Effing. Word.  
> .  
> WORDS AND MEANINGS AND STUFF!;
> 
> Min lille Guldklump, Danish; “My Little Golden Nugget”
> 
> Asteri mou, Greek noun; My Star.
> 
> Amadán, Gaelic noun (Both); Fool, Idiot, Clown.
> 
> What Roxanne is referring to is “ghràidh mo chridhe” which in fact is the Scottish Gaelic interpretation of “Love of my heart”. The variation Megamind had written out was the Irish Gaelic version. Although Gaelic has very similar pronunciations, the spelling is so different many have a hard time reading the other written language. Similar to the barrier between Spanish and Basque (oh my GOD did that trip me up the first time I attempted to read without translation)
> 
> Funny story, as this was in progress I had confided in Hbthing about the various terms of affection I would be using. Give it a few weeks later I’m stuck in front of the hallway vanity with bleach in my hair and stained gloves, needing him to get me a timer but he was in another room. I went through the entire list of terms to try and get his attention to no avail.  
> Until I used Turdblossom.  
> He popped right out of the bedroom within seconds.  
> Also Turdblossom is the apparent choice nickname a husband gave his wife in an online forum, which, thank you husband (and sorry wife).
> 
> Other funny story, I pulled the “sick sleep” scene from real life, I tend to do this a lot when half-awake yet not conscious at all with Hbthing, taking things from him and even having conversations (I remember somewhere last week saying “The strawberry donuts came out chewy” and then burying my face into the comforter again) and never recalling a single thing once awake. Well, rarely recalling.
> 
> Amor, Fofinha and Tão Fofa, Portuguese; Love, Sweetie and So Cute, respectively.  
> (Fofinha is used loosely as fluffy, cute, sweet[ie/heart] as is Tão Fofa (So cute, so sweet, adorable)
> 
> “Matia mou” was what started all of this, I don’t even remember when or where I came across it, I just knew in my head those stupidly amazing green eyes popped up and I knew that, yes, Roxanne would so endear Megamind’s eyes to the point of being his given nickname.
> 
> Alright, gonna disappear into the abyss again.  
> -P.C.


End file.
